Little Bird
by kybe-the-writer
Summary: Elizabeth emerges from the explosion at the conclave with her brother, Maxwell who is the blessed hero of Andraste. She has a lethal wound that does not bleed, a fever that won't end, and she won't wake. Solas travels to the fade to see why this human woman is so special, but he hardly expects an answer. Where one question is answered another is found.
1. It Began With Darkness

Darkness. She floats in a sea of it. Numb and without form. Is it floating though, if there is no water? If it is, is it still floating if you have no arms, no legs, no body? Only a soul chilling silence responded her thoughts, setting despair into her being. She wondered how long she had been here. Had she always been here? She could not remember a life beyond the endless sea of black tar.

Realization struck her like lightning.

She knew that she was female.

It comes rushing back to the front of her mind. She remembers breathing crisp air. She remembers the silence above the clouds, and the roar of the storms. She remembers the feeling of beating her wings against the air as her body lifts off the ground. Its the memory magic that truly startles her. She remembers it. her magic, as it flows through her blood and singing a beautiful tune everytime she summoned it. Flowering through her body, under her flesh. Her aura enveloping her flesh and pushing against the veil, taking shape as beautiful flames.

She was alive.

She was **alive**.

She is suddenly afraid. The memory of breath makes her feel as if she is suffocating. The memory of wind as it rushed past her, the sound of it, made the silence overwhelming. The memory of flight, the ability to move, makes her realize that she can't move. The memory of magic, it makes her realise she cannot summon any of it. Makes her feel lost and alone.

Panic surges, pulses through, her soul. It is pure torture as she compares her previous existence to what she is now.

She can't breath, can't hear, can't move, **can't feel**.

When the green flash of light engulfs her, its like she had her eyes closed the entire time and when she opened them there was light. She inhales deeply and relief beyond comprehension floods her being. Suddenly, she is grabbed and jerked into running.

"Elizabeth! We need to go!" Her eyes turn and sees a human. he is pulling her.

Elizabeth?

Confusion flits through her and her gaze scanning the surrounding area as she is pulled up the incline. The ground is ashen and near black, devoid of life. The sky is black, with swirls of green. Her eyes widen as a scattering sound reaches her. She looks back and is met with demons, taking the shape of swirls of darkness. They whisper about her experience in the dark.

_Unable to feel-__Unable to see-__Unable to breathe-_

_Unable to **move**-_

The whispers overlap in her native tongue and she turns her head forward, trying to block their voices as she focuses on running, she stumbles and pain radiates in her torso.

"Elizabeth! Come on!" The human man yells, his tone is shrill from fear, she notices a green glow in his palm.

Who is Elizabeth? She is-

A glowing woman at the top of the hill reaches for him and his glowing palm grasps the glowing womans hand. He yanks her as hard as he can and suddenly the two are collapsing on ashen ground.

Her gaze turns to look at the man, he struggles to get his elbows, looking for her. His eyes meet hers, his expression relaxes to relief, and they roll back into his head. He falls, ash fanning around them. She looks up, the sky is glowing green and swirling dangerously. The magic that pulses from the obvious portal of sorts presses against her aura making her nauseous. It whispers against her skin wishing to tell her something, but unable to convey anything.

Disoriented, she reaches for the sky and pauses as a human hand crosses her gaze.

"Survivors!' A voice yells, in a language she cannot understand, its the same one the unconscious man next to her spoke.

She barely hears the man, though, as she turns the hand in her gaze. Vision blurred, she flexes the fingers and frowns as it responds to her commands. The hand becomes heavy, too heavy to sustain, and she winces as it falls limply. Her side is in pain and warm, it is then that she notices every breath pulls at the pain. Adrenaline, her thoughts provide. It had kept her from feeling pain. Her head lulls in the same direction and she sees approaching soldiers, they are human.

"Are you alright?" A soldier says then turns away from her, "This one is conscious, but she's injured and in shock I think."

Her breath is shallow and she struggles to keep her eyes open, she is afraid to close them. Afraid she will end up in the floating darkness again, she was there for so long.

"_Gaandeix siid..._" Her native tongue spills from her lips with ease as she pleas for help.

She does not see the confused looks the soldiers share as her mind is pulled into the fade, into unconsciousness.

As her eyes open in the fade, she is greeted by what appears to be, a human woman.

"Hello, Ysabeau"

* * *

Her language has frequent consistancy and is not randomized, is is planned and has an appropriate translation.

Gaandeix siid * Help/Assist me * gah-ahn-d-eh-ks ss-ih-d

Ysabeau * pronunciation * Iz-AH-b-oh


	2. Prophecy of the Witch

Stormy grey eyes narrowed on the Herald who sat with his sister, Elizabeth Trevelyan. He had dark circles under his blue eyes and his black hair was a mess, but he resolved to completing his paperwork by her bedside. As for the woman, he turned to look at her. Appearance wise she was a normal looking human. She had dark brown, appearing black, hair that curled into tight ringlets and fell to her waist, it complimented her darker skin tone. She was shorter than Cassandra in height and young, barely into her adulthood. She was a child in comparison to himself and half of Haven.

When delved deeper than simple appearance it was apparent that the woman was an anomaly. When she had been recovered with her brother, she had been unconsious and it appeared that she had been struck by debris of some sort. The blood on her skin and clothes was profuse enough to cause panic. It had struck her aortic artery, a spot that **should** have killed her easily and while the wound had been open; by the time the healer reached her the bleeding had ceased and the wound was clean of debris. As if that wasn't odd as is, she had sustained a fluctuating fever since that day, with no known cause, and spoke an unknown language. Of course he had considered blood loss hysteria, but he could not be sure. She was much more than her appearance provided and he was more than curious.

He approached the Herald, the man looked up and Solas froze. He realized in this moment that their would be no convincing him to leave the women's side, to properly work or rest, he sighed. Maybe he could at least...

"Herald why don't you go get something to eat, I will watch over the Lady Trevelyan."

The man's lips purse like he's going to argue, but he sighs a runs a hand through his disheveled curls, "Alright, let me know if she awakes." He stands and pauses at the door, "Thank you, Solas."

The elf responds with a sincere smile, "Of course, Herald."

The infirmary door shuts behind the human man and Solas turns back to the anomaly in female form. His aura twitched against his skin as his magic begged to examine her body. He had gotten a brief chance to look her over for any strange magicks, similar to the Herald, but when he found nothing except her own magical aura... he was sent away.

He pursed his lips, as he debated interally, and approached the whimpering woman. The Herald's survival made sense, with everything the mark entailed, but she had been with **nothing** to protect her. He shifted hesitantly for a moment, only for a moment though, before his aura reaches out to feel for her magical being. He frowns as it does not rush to meet him, as it had when she was in the dungeon, in fact he cannot even feel her at first. Suddenly it spikes out and shudders, she gasps and cries out in that same instance, then he feels it curl against her core. Solas' eyes widen and he inhales sharpy. As her aura reels like a feral animal, he can feel the damage her magic left in her veins.

He pulls his aura back to his skin, his frown deepens as thoughts raced below his brow.

Her magic is attacking her, creating a fever as the body defends itself. If it continues then the fever will claim her, but... Why is her magic attacking her?

"Fascinating..." Where one question is answered, more are found.

He could not help but wonder if the fade did this to her and he just did not notice it before. It was possible that the mark protected the herald and without protection, the fade damaged her human body. If she were an elf, he doubted it would have injured her, but she was human. He paused and sighed, he could not jump to conclusions without proper evidence to support his theory. The door opened during his musings.

"Ah, Herald, I have news regarding your sisters condition." Solas' words are hurried, he may have little care for humans, but suffering was not something he enjoyed watching, "I felt something with my magic."

The lord Trevelyan perks at his words, grasping at any solution to help his sister, "And?"

"I-" He hesitated, needing an answer first, "Has she always been a mage?"

The herald sighed, as if not wanting to have this conversation, but relenting in case it would help his sister, "Yes, she was raised mostly in a circle... she preferred to keep it secret after I helped her escape an annulment."

Solas frowns and glances down at the human woman, he had heard of annulments, how the templars would eradicate towers full of mages. He would change how mages were treated, he needed to, "You were a templar, yes?"

Maxwell Trevelyan exhales slowly and turns to look at his sister, "Yes, I was sent off to be a templar when I was ten, Faeya was four. I had barely started using lyrium."

"I get the impression that you did not want to be a templar."

The laugh that fall from the herald's lips is dark and sad, "I had known since my sister was born that she was a mage, her mother had felt it. I knew when I was sent away she would get discovered and she did."

Solas' eyebrows drew inward, he had many questions. **Her** mother, did they have different parentage? Was her mother a mage? What age was she was shipped off? All those and more, but looking at the herald, he realized that his questions would need to wait.

The elven mage clears his throat gently, "I believe the fade may have done something to her magic, whereas you were protected by the mark."

"Done... something? What is it doing?" His previous melancholy is replaced with concern.

"Her magic is attacking her body," Solas watched the man's eyes widen, "I have a few ideas that may stop it from continuing."

"Solas," His tone is firm with trust, it makes the apostate pause, "Anything to save my sister."

The elven apostate nodded, "I can visit her in the fade, to see what is causing her magic to attack her, but if that does not work then we may have to resort to smiting her."

Maxwell Trevelyan sucked in a sharp breath at the word, his eyes narrowing, "I cannot... I **will** **not** let my sister endure another smite."

"If my journey to the fade does not bear fruit then it may be the only course of action that will save your sister's life, Herald." Solas' expression softens to sympathy.

The man looks weary and tired, but his eyes are hardened, "If it comes to that... I will do it, Solas, I will take lyrium and perform the smite myself."

The elven mage nods, he understood why the Herald refused to trust another with this task, and laces his fingers behind his back, "I will attempt to reach her in the fade, immediately."

The Herald nods as the apostate sits on the floor to mediate, his legs crossed and hands placed on his knees. A deep inhale through his mouth and a slow exhale through his nose, as his eyelids shut.

When his eyes opened, he was in the fade. Being a dreamer made it easy to access the realm across the veil. He breathed a sigh and stood to his feet. He was in Haven still and it was full of spirits representing the people who lived long ago. They prayed before statues and whispered of dragons. This was before the Hero of Ferelden cleared it out while searching for Andraste's ashes. He stepped outside of the vision, having already learned all he could from the spirits of the area, and his eyes shut as he searched for the aura he would recognize as Elizabeth. As his aura searched, her magic glowed like a beacon, dragging his body towards the location.

When he opened his eyes he was met with complete darkness. It was thick like tar and deep as the sea. It made breathing impossible and moving difficult, but he moved outside of dreams. Although, it was curious that she chose this to dream of. A rumble of sound dragged his attention and he turned to see a dark figure laying among shadows. A frown creases his features and he approaches the figure. Suddenly the figure shudders and it is Elizabeth floating in the sea of dark, she is curled in on herself and wearing no clothes. His pace quickens to reach her. She whimpers and cries out before shuddering again. Her form flickers like a flame in the wind, her skin bubbles out and she curls further into herself. She writhes and screams in pain as the skin covering her back expands a tears. The pain appears to much, because with a sob she collapses limply against the black ground and her form solidifies again. Her skin is as if the process had never happened, the only evidence being, her shaking and sweating.

Solas is confused, why does she keep attempting to change her body? Especially since its obviously causing her pain. Why does it cause her pain?

"Elizabeth?" His voice echoes in the darkness and she lifts her head.

"_Gaandeix_... _siid__..._" She whispers the plea softly, a sob wracking her body, "I am not this..."

Solas blinks and bends next to her, he could address what language she spoke later, "Elizabeth, what-"

"No!" She screeches out the word and writhes as her flesh tears revealing scales and claws. Blood pours from these wounds and suddenly she is sobbing again, her form flickers and she is normal again, but the blood remains. "I am no Elizabeth. I am no human..."

The elven apostate frowns deeply and sits down next to the girl, her pale blue eyes peer at him, "What do you mean_?_"

"I opened my eyes and... it was not me_._" She pulled up her hand and sneered at the sight of it, "But my spirit rejects it. Rejects this_._"

That's when Solas understood, it hadn't happened since the time of the elvhen and even then it was rare, but he knew exactly what was happening, "You are a spirit. "

"I am** me**, **this** is not **me**." She looks heartbroken and grabs at the hair connected to her scalp, "These... These memories are-are not mine!"

"Peace, spirit." He hesitantly touches her hair, bothered by her distress, "What were you? Before this."

"I... I was asleep in a dark room and then suddenly it was not sleep, but my state of being." Her eyes took on a faraway look, as she recalled her memories, "I was powerful and free. Ysabeau was my name."

"She will not listen to me."

Solas turns to the location of the feminine voice as Ysabeau growls, angered by the women's presence. He can feel the gentle magic that exudes from it and he quriks an eyebrow.

"A... spirit of courage?"

The spirit shares the same appearance as Elizabeth, but he knows that feeling and he knows **better**. He wonders what Elizabeth did to deserve such a pure spirit wanting to take her form.

"She was given the body, it was supposed to be, it was prophesied." Courage speaks softly, almost sympathetically.

Solas' face scrunches with an unspoken question and Courage smiles.

"Yavana, Antivian Witch of The Wilds predicted this. She watched dragons and tried to revive them, noble... if she had been noble, courageous if her thoughts pure." The spirit sighs, as if disappointed, "She predicted that the decendent of Ferelden, would wake **her**." She points at the woman.

The elven apostate turned to look at the shivering human, whose form flickered once again and she cried out before the form could even begin to try and change shape. Solas' eyebrows raise in surprise, if what she was was saying was true...

"Its not a suggestion, pride," Her sharp glowing eyes connected with his as he looked back at her, and her voice is firm, "It is what has come to pass and if she does not accept this form, she will die."

The last word whispers through the empty space as the spirit vanishes and he wishes he had been able to ask more questions. He would need to consult Wisdom later.

"I will die..?" Ysabeau's face pales and she leans up on her elbow, unconcerned with covering her unclothed body.

"Courage spoke the truth." Solas eyes her curiously, gauging her reaction.

The area around them darkened with her fear and he could feel demons press against the door to her dream. He sucked in a sharp breath with realization.

_I... I was asleep in a dark room and then suddenly it was not sleep, but my state of being_.

Was this where she was... before she was human? Was this what her death was like? And now it was her nightmare, her greatest nightmare. She looks so vulnerable and he... cannot stand it for some reason. He can't leave this alone.

**For some reason. **His thoughts mock him knowingly, it makes him swallow.

With a wave of his hand the room brightened and shattered, revealing a meadow. He watches, entralled, as she glances around. Her expression relaxes as she digs her fingertips into the grass. Her eyes close and sits up straighter. She inhales the smell on the wind slowly, as her curls are pulled over her shoulder and fall against her breast. A smile spreads across her lips, appreciative and soft.

**And you smiled back.** He ignores his nagging subconsious thoughts and he basks in the purity of her smile.

"Thank you."


	3. How to be a Human

"Elizabeth!" Maxwell threw his arms around his sister, in firm hug, "I was so worried."

Ysabeau swallowed thickly as the warmth of his embrace blanketed her body and she tensed as the contact. Her gaze briefly connected with the elven apostate. He motioned to her with a slight nod and she hesitantly placed her palms against the human mans back, but her back remained stiff as a board.

"I... I am alright, brother."

"What happened? Solas said your magic was attacking your body." He pulled away and searched her crystal blue eyes, for something, anything.

_"I'm not human, how can I even begin to behave like one."_

"A demon from the fade had... tried to posses me." She blinked as she recalled the lie that Solas had fabricated for her, "Its hold was stronger since we went through the fade physically."

_"You must, or else you will find out how Maxwell Trevelyan reacts to his sister dead and a spirit now inhabiting her body._"

"A demon? I felt no demon." Maxwell blinks.

Solas nodded, affirming her statement, and stepped forward, "It had not yet possessed her, but it was keeping her from waking, Herald, she is correct."

"Herald? I thought your name was Max." Her head tilted and she frowned as if consulting her memories.

Maxwell laughed at his sister, who he thought was joking, "With how often I am called 'Herald' I might as well change my name, but its what everyone has been calling me since this... mark-" He holds up his glowing palm as Ysabeau tries to follow his words, "-can close rifts."

"Rifts? What rifts?" Her eyes shifted to look at Solas.

"There was an explosion at the Conclave, I'm sorry Izzy, looks like the mages aren't free yet." Max explains instead of the apostate, his tone is apologetic and he frowns, "Do you not remember anything either?"

_"Use the few memories that are left in the body to your advantage, learn how to be Elizabeth as best as you can."_

"I-" She inhales slowly, her mind racing to come up with a lie on the spot. In her peripheral, she can see Solas freeze and inhale sharply, "I actually don't remember much of anything, Max."

Blue eyes that matched her own widened, "What do you remember?"

"I-" She frowns and sifts through Faeya's memories.

A womans smile, paired with loving touch, a soothing song. She used to braid her hair. Children playing. Flames. A tower. Fear, so much fear. **Death**. **Fear**. **_Hide_.**

The woman swallows, "I remember _Mamae... _Us as children and my magic. I remember the Ostwick Circle and-" She pauses with a wince, her head aches and throbs.

She does not see Solas' odd look at the elven word, but as he notices her struggle and Maxwell's frown. He steps forward quickly, "Perhaps... whatever took your memory in the fade, did more damage with her."

Maxwell nods and sighs, "Don't worry Izzy, we'll get our memory back together. I'm just glad you remember your mom, she was a good woman." Ysabeau opens her mouth, there is a blank, something she knows that he **doesn't**. She wants to correct him, but shuts her mouth quickly, something stops her. Something cold and nerve racking. Her stomach growls audibly and Maxwell laughs, she frowns upset that her stomach would dare make such a sound.

"I'm not surprised that you are hungry, they gave you this elfroot mixture through a glass dropper, but I don't imagine it was filling." Maxwell is still smiling, "I'll go get you some food, so stay put." The door is closed quickly behind him, to not let the cold air in.

Ysabeau tilts her head, but smiles, "He is overwhleming, but oddly familiar. Are all mortals like him?"

"No, they are not. He is one of a kind, for sure," He laughs at the quirked eyebrow that Ysabeau gives him, "If you do not mind, I have a question about your- I mean Elizabeth's mother."

For some reason, the woman stiffens, his question makes her uncomfortable. She wants to growl at him, but she scolds herself softly and nods. It is not her mother he asked about, its Elizabeth's.

"You called her _mamae_, was she an elf?"

This was the question that was making her body tense, she knows because it makes her angry even being asked. She cannot help the frown on her face, "Yes, _mamae _was an elf."

Solas blinks as she claims the woman as her mother and shifts his stance, "Then **you** and the herald do not have the same mother?"

_"Neither of them are mine! Why should I care for them!" A woman's voice, shrill and angry._

_"Because you are my wife! That makes them yours." A man's, dangerously filled with anger._

_"Hah! That boy may be yours, but that little bitch is niether of ours and you know it!"_

_He had slapped his wife for that comment and Elizabeth had forced herself to hide a gasp. She had ran to her mother, demanding answers and-_

Ysabeau flinched at the memory and the pain it caused, "We... We do have the same mother, its different fathers I think..."

"Then the herald is elf blooded?" It would change everything, perhaps it could even explain why the mark had not killed him.

"Yes..." She blinks back the pain in her brow, and pressed a knuckle to the spot of pain "But... he does not know and... I dont want to tell him."

Solas' eyes widen and he sighs, "I see, who is **your** father then?"

"I-" She winces again as flashes of color brighten her inner eyelids.

_"Mamae! Tell me," Elizabeth is panting, crying, and sweating from the run, "Is Max... your son?"_

_The woman is dark skinned and her shoulders are covered in thock curls, she stops washing the laundry with a gasp. She has a beautifully intricate vallaslin, that dedicates her to Mythal, "Da'lan! Where did you hear this?"_

_"Father- He-" She frowns as she stumbles over the word, unsure, "Is he even my father?"_

_The woman inhales sharply and drops the scrubbing brush, it clatters as she rushes for her child, "Ma lath, please understand. That man... I- Serah Trevelyan is-"_

_"Who is he?" The girls eyes were sharp, "Who is my father?"_

_Blue eyes are wide and she sighs softly, "He-"_

"I-I can't remember," The dark skinned woman squeezes her eyes shut with a hiss.

Solas frowns and steps forward, "Does your head hurt?"

"Very much so, I think its the memories..." She admits, but she cannot hear her own words over the throb under her skin.

The elven apostate breathes a deep sigh and his aura reaches to touch hers as he extends his hand. His hand gently falls to rest against the back of her neck. His hand glows a gentle green as a pleased sigh fall from the elf-blooded woman's lips. For some reason... Ysabeau did not mind his touch, she did not dwell on it.

The cool air was on her neck again as his hand left her skin and the door to the room creaked as it opened.

"I know you hate oatmeal. but it was all they had and you better eat," Maxwell entered the room talking, a bowl in hand.

Ysabeau scowls at the lumpy pale substance in the bowl as it is placed in her lap. For some reason nausea settles in the bottom of her stomach.

She crosses her arms and glares stubbornly at the herald, "No... I won't eat this."

Solas watches, throughly humored, as the herald stares down his sister who is actually a spirit that could easily be double or more his age. "As your elder, I command you to eat that."

She opens her mouth to argue about how much she doubted it, but shuts it just as swiftly as she opened it. She shifts her gaze back down to the bowl, her lip quivers.

"But-"

"No, eat."

Solas coughs to cover a chuckle earning a sharp glare from the woman. She sighs and finally takes a bite, it does not taste too horrible, she realizes.

_"Oatmeal again?__" Elizabeth pokes the thick substance with a fork._

_"Could be worse, could be nothing." A voice, familiar, it sparks happiness and warmth. Its a males voice._

_"Would almost prefer that." She smiles as he laces her fingers with his._

She swallows thickly as the oatmeal leaves a sour taste in her mouth. Every day she- no, Elizabeth used to eat oatmeal in that cold tower

Maxwell's expression softens at her wince, "How do you feel?"

An undeniable urge to calm him fills her and she tries fir a smile, "I-I feel fine, Max-"

A knock on the door gathers their attention, Max opens it to reveal a woman with short red hair, hidden beneath a purple hood. She wore leather armor, adorned with chainmail and a purple hood thrown over her head.

"Herald, you cannot just dodge my agents whom were sent to collect you, with a quick 'spending some bonding time with my sis, leave me alone'." She crossed her arms and glared, but her lips twitched with amusement.

Maxwell sighed, "Okay, okay..." He turns to sister, "I'll be back later, Solas if she is feeling up to it, would you be comfortable showing her around?"

Solas smiles, "It would be my pleasure, Herald."

The Herald leaves the room with the woman and Ysabeau sighs softly, she sneers at the oatmeal and puts the rest of it on the table next to her.

As she pulls her body back to the cot she turns to look at the elven apostate, "What is the herald exactly?"

Solas inhales deeply, "The Herald of Andraste, it is a title founded on the Chantry's holy figure. Her name was Andraste and she was said to be the bride of their Maker. They granted this title to Maxwell Trevelyan for stopping the growth of the Breach, due to believing that Andraste guided him through the fade."

Ysabeau blinks and nods, "Thats... interesting, to say the least and what is the Breach?"

Solas shifts uneasily and walks to the door, "Come, it would be easier to show you."

The elf blooded human nods and throws the blanket off. Her bare feet press into the floor and she stands carefully as to avoid aggravating her injury. Her hands press into the bandaging that wraps around her ribcage as her wound twinges painfully, regardless of her carefully movements. The elven apostate pauses at her attire, his gaze lingering for a moment before he clears his throat and walks to the wooden dresser. He digs through it for a moment and pulls out a dark blue woolen sweater.

"Put this on, you are not wearing a proper shirt and given that the majority of this town is devout in their faith to the Maker. You may make a sister faint." Solas smirks softly at the thought.

"It covers my skin, though, surely this is more than enough..." She frowns as she catches the sweater that he throws at her. She was wearing a thin strapped top that did not pass her sternum, but bandages covered the rest of her torso.

"It is... meant to go under clothes." He coughed to hide his blush, "Its called undergarments, for that reason."

"Mortals are so odd... wearing clothes just to put more clothes on top of it. Pointless," She turns the sweater around in her hands and turns back to look at Solas, "How do I... wear it?"

Her-Elizabeth's memories told her nothing of wearing clothes.

He frowns, appearing conflicted, but steps closer regardless. He takes the sweater from her and rolls it in a specific way, all while holding eye contact. He pulls the sweater down over her head and directs her arms into the sleeves. Ysabeau tilts her head curiously, examining his focused gaze and his features. Her eyes slid over his features, taking in his high cheekbones and the slight freckles that adorn them. She examines the scar on his brow and the color of his stormy grey eyes as he pulls the shirt down over her bandages. He was careful to not aggravate her injury, but when his fingertips skimmed againat her skin, she shivered. His eyes connected with hers and suddenly he was three steps away from her, heading for the door.

Crystal blue eyes blinked curiously and she tugged her long hair free while watching the elven male open the door. She was quickly grateful for the thicker clothing as the sting of the cold air whipped past her. She pushes her hair away from her face and blinks past the snowflakes that land on her eyelashes.

"The Breach is a tear in the veil, that was caused by the explosion at the Conclave." Solas frowns up at the green tear the swirls with the clouds, threateningly. "It was growing until, the herald closed a rift at the base of the Breach... but rifts remain scattered all across Thedas or so the spymasters agents say.

"I see... It sounds dangerous to spirits of the fade." Ysabeau meets his stormy grey eyes, the green from the breech reflecting her her eyes, "Does it not?"

The elven apostate nods, "Yes, it is."

She sighs softly, upset with this revelation, "And you think Max can close this Breach, with the mark on his hand?"

"Not as it is, no..." He watches as she sits on the stone wall next to the steps, facing away from the Breach now, "But if we receive the help of mages or even templars then... maybe. I hope, anyway."

Dread pools in her stomach at the mere thought of templars, her face paling.

"I hope Max goes to the mages, I don't think I can be around templars."

She can hear Solas step closer and his hand touches her shoulder, "Are... Are you alright?"

"I'm not sure... just the word-" She sighs and runs a hand over her brow, "It brings about such fear, I don't understand..."

"And no memories came with the feeling?" Solas is frowning.

"No..." She breathes out slowly.

The elven apostate holds out a hand for her to take, "Come, perhaps we can find you some better food, instead of oatmeal."

Ysabeau laughed softly, it was pure, the sound of her distress fading, "Please, I hate that stuff as much as she did."

Solas determined in that moment, that he quite liked her laugh.


End file.
